


you bring me home

by bageldiscourse



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Moving In Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-12 23:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18456464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bageldiscourse/pseuds/bageldiscourse
Summary: They almost broke up and maybe they should have, but they didn’t; they stuck with it because Jordan makes Mat want to be an adult about things like this—where usually he would run in the opposite direction he now makes an effort to, at least, not worsen things.





	you bring me home

**Author's Note:**

> dont know what this is besides me dumping my mat/jordan feelings into the shortest fic of all time but i made it seem like i do in fact know what im doing on twitter so uhhh here it is! love these boys 4ever smash the kudos/comment button if u agree

So—Mat and Jordan didn’t break up.

They were close, a few times, and for the better part of the back end of the season Mat roomed with Tito and Jordan with Anders. There were moments that passed where Mat doubted whether Jordan ever loved him at _all_ , for more than just his slick passes on the ice and quick wit off it; sometimes the thought went through his head that it was just too unrealistic that it would ever work out with him and Jordan.

They almost broke up and maybe they should have, but they didn’t; they stuck with it because Jordan makes Mat want to be an adult about things like this—where usually he would run in the opposite direction he now makes an effort to, at least, not worsen things.

Every once in awhile, after a tough loss or an especially big win, Mat would wordlessly follow Jordan home, and they would carefully talk about nothing that matters and then they would fall asleep together in Jordan’s bed and the next morning Mat would make pancakes and Jordan would kiss his forehead, an unspoken notion about how he missed this hanging heavy in the air until Mat leaves in borrowed clothes.

Mat hits a goal slump in late February that he doesn’t break for a month, and in that time he stubbornly pushes Jordan away because he can’t handle the idea of someone else carrying the weight of his own struggle and inadequacy. Tito texts him _don’t be dumb_ after a week and a half, and Mat steadfastly ignores the advice because if there’s one thing he’s decidedly good at, it’s fucking up his own life. In a sick, completely nonsensical way he owes it to himself to at least let himself have that, right now.

He does a lot of sitting in the dark in his too-empty apartment, and a little of scrolling through his Twitter mentions until he starts to believe that all he’s good for is secondary assists on inevitably meaningless goals. Believe it or not, neither help him even marginally. So maybe he needs to work on his coping skills, it’s not like that’s news.

  


(The night he finally scores, they’re in Winnipeg.

Mat doesn’t bother stopping at his own room after the game, just follows Jordan to his and once the door closes Jordan holds him and strokes his hair while Mat whispers incoherencies about how he’s sorry, how he knows he’s been dumb and sad, how he still loves Jordan no matter what and he was so _stupid_ to think he could deal with this on his own because it’s been killing him more than he’d care to admit.)

  


The season winds down to an unceremonious end after that, and Mat has tentatively gone back to talking about his feelings _before_ they cause him trouble, and things are just. Good. He’s happy.

Home ice advantage is a nice way to start the playoffs, if only because it means Mat can sleep in his own bed the night before, and also because there’s a special sort of comfort that comes when playing in front of your own fans that’s hard to overstate, as clichéd a sentiment as it’s become. Jordan and Mat are put on a line together for the first game, ostensibly with the hope that they can rekindle the success they’ve had in the past. It is, Mat acknowledges, worth a try; worst-case scenario, they’re split up by the end of the first and they find a way to create offense another way. It’s a win-win situation, in the grand scheme of things.

  


The first game is a nail-biter overtime win that’s a little sloppy, and though they have a +2 each on the night and not much else to show for it, Mat and Jordan play well together.

Game two goes much better.

It goes fucking _great_ , actually—they hold the Penguins to one goal in the first period, Mat dishes the puck to Jordan for the game winner, and it’s almost too easy that they’re going to Pittsburgh up two in the series.

After media obligations, Jordan drives them both home. Mat makes himself comfortable on Jordan’s couch, scrolling aimlessly through Twitter just for something to do, and then Jordan’s saying, “Look, I think—we need to talk.”

Mat freezes, drops his phone in his lap. “If this is a breakup,” he says carefully, “you don’t have to—”

“No! That’s not it at all—is that really what you thought?”

“I mean. Kind of?”

Jordan reaches over, takes Mat’s hand. “Promise that’s not what this is, okay?”

“Okay,” Mat nods, but he’s still worried about what it would be, if not that. “So. Something else?”

“I wanted to give you something. It’s just—you know how I feel about you. You’re, like, up there on the list of the best things that have happened to me.”

“Fuck you, no way,” Mat says, because there’s just no way. As nice as that sounds, he doubts he would even crack the top ten.

“Just—listen to me, okay?” Jordan says, and he’s looking at Mat like this is something serious, so Mat stops fighting him and lets him continue. “Look, I really care about you. You know I do. I wanted to give you something to show you that, and, y’know. It’s not _huge_ , but it’s important to me that you have it, so. Come with me to the bedroom to get it?”

“Yeah, of course,” Mat says, trying to regain any semblance of chill in this situation, his mind running through a multitude of possibilities, none of which happen to be the keychain that Jordan picks up from the bedside table and hands over to him him.

It only has one key on it—Jordan’s house key, Mat quickly realizes. “Jordan.”

“Only if you want it, but I figured it’s been this long, so. You should know that I’m in it for the long haul, I guess,” Jordan says, smiling like this is the best thing that’s happened to him, and Mat’s never loved him more.

“I love you,” Mat says, almost breathless with it. “Holy fuck, I don’t deserve you.”

“ _So_ not true.” Jordan says it like it’s easy, as if there’s no other way to answer, and Mat wants to spend the rest of his life with him.

For right now, he settles on kissing him stupid, hoping it conveys well enough everything Mat doesn’t know how to say— _I love you, I love you, always._

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to, in no specific order:  
> harry styles  
> barold trotz  
> my wife shannon  
> the 4-packs of red bull sold at ur local target
> 
> this garbage heap of feelings would not exist w/o all of u :)


End file.
